


Coldharbour

by lost_spook



Category: 15th Century CE RPF, The Shadow of the Tower
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5192360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_spook/pseuds/lost_spook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes second meetings are more awkward than the first...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coldharbour

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tudorgirl1027 over on Tumblr, who actually asked me for my own take on a first meeting, but I only obliged with a second. (This time, anyway.)

It was a ridiculously small thing that overset her – a bird, a mere sparrow, alighting on the bare branch of a bush in front of her in the garden of Coldharbour House – but to Elizabeth it brought a back a long-forgotten memory with sudden vividness. She could remember watching another such bird perch only a short distance away, only this time years ago in summer, on a rare occasion with most of her family present. Her youngest brother had been nearby and had given a cry, scaring it away. It was a fleeting moment, a mere nothing, but it left her with a such a sharp sense of loss that even she could not keep from tears, though she lowered her head, and pretended to be examining the plant, not wanting anyone else to see. Cecily was further over, walking with one of their ladies.

The sparrow took wing again, presumably startled away by the same thing that caught Elizabeth’s attention – some commotion from within the house – and she realised belatedly that it might well signal the King’s arrival. She closed her eyes, her cheeks heating in annoyance – she really could not have him thinking she wept at the prospect of seeing him!

“Elizabeth!” Cecily called, but Elizabeth shook her head, needing a few more moments.

She steadied herself, straightening her gown and turned, hiding her face from any watchers as she wiped her eyes with her fingers. She had in fact been looking forward to a second meeting with the King, but of course the man must seize on the most inconvenient moment to finally appear, she thought, and unfairly blamed the sparrow.

Steeling herself, she prepared to go in and meet Henry. Her distress could not be too apparent, surely, she thought as she turned – only to find the King himself approaching her, now barely any distance away along the garden path. She was startled into a gasp and then dropped into what was probably the most ungraceful curtsey she had ever made, low as it was.

“Forgive me, your grace,” she said, grateful at least that protocol bade her look down and not up. “I was –” She stopped, unable to think how to go on: wool-gathering? Sobbing over a common sparrow like a mere maid? “Forgive me,” she muttered again.

He stretched out a hand to raise her up and then stepped back. “No, no. It seems you must forgive me for startling you. I merely thought that when my mother told me the Lady Elizabeth was taking a walk in the garden that I might join you. It seems some warning might have been needed.”

She glanced down again. He didn’t sound angry, but she wasn’t sure that was any real guarantee that she had not offended him with her odd reaction. She smiled, however, covering the awkwardness as best as she could. “Oh, no. Your majesty caught me in a moment of distraction, that is all. You are very welcome here – how could you not be?”

“Am I?” he said, watching her carefully. She wished he wouldn’t: he was very observant, very quick – she had realised that on their previous meeting. “Lady Elizabeth, have you been weeping – here in my mother’s garden? Does it perhaps not please you?”

As he had said to her, nothing but the truth would do between them, so she gave in, and with a rueful glance at him, said, “Oh, no – it was nothing, merely a sparrow that I saw!”

“A sparrow?” he said, and she saw that she had at least managed to surprise him. “I suppose if God himself is said to do so, why should you not? Is your heart so tender that you will be driven to weeping over every sparrow’s sad fate – and no doubt every thrush and black bird –?”

He was teasing her, she was sure, and she had to laugh. “I think your grace knows that I am not so _very_ saintly. It was a foolish moment, nothing more – it brought back a memory I had forgotten. I am content here, and your mother is kind.”

“Ah,” he said, and took her hand, leading her back towards the house but slower than he need. He did not, however, ask what the memory was. She understood why not. They were to build a future together, for them, and for the country. The past was not a place they could visit if they wished to do that. She remembered her old life with her parents fondly, almost as an unreal thing, surrounded by a childish, golden haze, but that idyll had not been uninterrupted and she could remember if she tried, from her earliest days, the thread of uncertainty that had run through everything. But her most beloved father whose spoiled darling she had been was the same man who was responsible for nearly all of the hurts done to Henry. That was how things had been then, but all that must now end. She and Henry must end it.

“You are otherwise happy here?” he asked as they neared the door. 

It was a carefully neutral question, and she nodded, but she also felt that now, her odd distress dealt with, the game they had begun on their first meeting was now fairly resumed. And she was certainly not all that saintly, since she had to lower her head to hide her smile; it was what she had been waiting for, building up her hand since their last encounter. 

“I am,” she said. “Your mother takes very good care of us – and I assure your grace that I have been learning my lessons well.”

He stopped, looking at her. “You surprise me. I had thought you fully accomplished as it was.”

Elizabeth was not as good as he at keeping a straight face as she played her hand; she laughed. “Your mother tells me much about you, your grace. Your likes, dislikes – and I hear that you were always very quick with your books, even at a prodigious young age, save perhaps –”

“Enough, enough,” he said, and she wondered for a moment if she had tried her luck too far, but she heard the amusement in his voice as he continued: “And yet you say that you are content here? I suppose there is no accounting for these things.”

She laughed again. “I am. And I asked my lady – and she obliged. You are not angry with me?”

“No, no,” he said. “I understand perfectly, lady. You seek an advantage – very wise. But I’m afraid I must tell you it is not so!”

Elizabeth did not understand, watching him again. “Is it not?”

Henry squeezed her hand before letting her go. She was sorry that he did; it had been colder than she had realised out in the garden and she had been glad of his warmth. “You do not realise that I am surrounded by people who will, at the least encouragement, extol the virtues of the Lady Elizabeth at length.”

“ _Only_ my virtues?” she asked. “Then I fear your grace must be at a disadvantage after all. I was once, you know, a sadly spoiled princess.”

“No, no; I hear that the Lady Elizabeth has been renowned for her goodness and gentleness, her sweetness of disposition – and many other such virtues since childhood,” he said, almost as if wearily reciting a list. Then, however, he paused and added, more softly, “I do not think it so hard to believe.”

Elizabeth found herself still unsure how to deal with his compliments. They pleased her, but they also disturbed her in ways she didn’t care to yet explain to herself. She merely shook her head, and said, “To truly even the score, your grace should ask my mother. She would tell you the sad truth: that at a young age, I would take the sweetmeats meant for her if my nurse did not stop me. And pay for it with the stomach ache, too.”

“Oh, well,” he said. “If the crime has already been paid for in full – and your confession heard – I am sure we need not worry over it any longer.”

She laughed at his mock-solemn way of responding to her humour. “Of course, your grace.”

“Then I am sure all is well,” he said, and took her hand again to lead her through the door, and this time he kissed it before releasing it. From a man who had already assured her that he was careful in all things, that meant a great deal.

Elizabeth glanced down again, trying to hide her smile and the decidedly non-virtuous sense of triumph she felt. They were not alone, either. This was not a public meeting, but there were several ladies, Cecily, various people attending the King – and, of course, Lady Margaret, the King’s mother, who was casting a well-satisfied look in their direction.

“You asked if I was content here,” Elizabeth said, causing him to turn back to her again. “And so I am, but there is something that would make me happier still.”

He nodded, but there was an edge of weariness in the action now. “Ah, yes,” he said. “What is it that you wish? If it is anything within my power –” 

She inclined her head, becoming deceptively demure. “I believe it is. I merely remind your grace that you are very welcome here – as I’m sure you know.”

“It is my mother’s house,” he said. “That goes without saying – or so I should hope.” But he had understood, she knew, and without her making any unwise demands of him. “And I am,” he continued, still sounding serious but with a glint of humour in his eyes and the hint of a smile playing about his mouth, “a most dutiful son. But that, I am sure, my mother tells you.”

She bit back another smile. “Indeed, your grace.” She would, she thought, have to forgive that inconvenient sparrow. It had done her no harm, after all.


End file.
